


your name is the splinter inside me

by keycchan



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keycchan/pseuds/keycchan
Summary: The Brotherhood is gone. So are the two people she called family. Haylen drifts between it all, and settles in Diamond City.The holiday season tiptoes in.Piper will help her see it through.





	your name is the splinter inside me

_December 25th, 2279._

 

* * *

 

 

Her first winter outside of the Brotherhood is the hardest winter in her life.

It’d started snowing a week beforehand, and by now the CommonWealth greets each morning with a fresh blanket of white, frozen fractals. It’d be beautiful if she weren’t so sure of the click-click of a geiger counter if she had one around. The birds have mutated enough not to care about the temperatures, but the mirelurks have all gone into hiding, and the dogs keep largely at bay to conserve their own energy in the freezing months. The feral ghouls are as stiff as corpses in the cold, and even the raiders don’t venture too far away from their camps. Its ironic; the CommonWealth is at its safest when its the weather that wants you dead, and not the people and creatures in it.

Haylen can feel the numbness of her nose, red and prickling. Can feel the snowflakes on the nape of her bare neck, melting on freckled skin and slipping damp down her coat. She can’t seem to feel the actual chill, though — it’s hard to be cold when all she can remember is heat and flame. Closes her eyes to snowflakes and all she sees is destruction in steel. Everything she’d built her life around, grown up to, strived to be — gone. Just like that. Her goals, their objectives — fulfilled, but only the traitors left to watch.

( Somewhere, further south, the remnants of the Prydwen have gone cold. Rubble and metal and glass and bodies, all the same when buried beneath the winter blanket, as is the wreckage of the CIT ruins, the crater of Cambridge. It’ll be a long time before the CommonWealth’s air comes as clean as it used to. Months before the clouds are clear of the ashes. Both the Brotherhood and the Institute, once superpowers in their own right, now dust in the wind. Gone, in firey billows of orange-red flames, of mushroom clouds, skies as angry as infected wounds, the gunshots heard around the Wealth.

The hardest thing to believe, among all that loss of lives and technology and  _knowledge_  — is how her hands had been one of those who’d helped to pull the trigger. )

The sun goes down earlier come December. She doesn’t know what time it is beyond  _dark_ , but the huge lights that come down on them makes it feel like it can’t be  _that_  late. Up here, perched on an abandoned bus somehow balanced atop a schoolhouse, Haylen can see everything. The neon glow of the Power Noodles stall. The flow of people slowly emerging from their homes, closing up shops, so they can eat and talk together, seeking warmth and company in the same places. Also: twinkling, colourful little lights, like torchbugs, strung across roof to roof, building to building. Like stars. Haylen has never been particularly enthusiastic about festive cheer, but there’s admittedly something calming, soothing, about the gentle flicker of fairy lights as the people gather in the pulse of Diamond City.

The sound of footsteps and she almost startles, someone coming up onto the roof with her. She looks up the same time they slings something warm around her neck; she almost shudders with the abrupt relief she didn’t know she needed. She sees dark eyes, darker hair. A newsboy cap that looks two stitches away from falling apart. A very, very classy red leather coat that cuts a very, very nice silhouette.

“Come here often?” Piper wright half-jokes, grin crooked and a little awkward in the warm streetlight from below. Haylen can’t help but smile back. “You disappeared. Nat was wondering.”

“Oh,  _Nat_  was wondering?” Haylen finds it in herself to tease a little, finds a small, rare smile on her face when Piper splutters.

Even in evening dark, Piper’s cheeks flare red. It’s cute. She flaps her hand dismissively, clears her throat awkwardly. “That’ll teach me to look out for a friend, yeesh.”

Haylen only laughs, for just a moment and more air than sound, but it happens, and Piper’s face relaxes back into something soft before moving closer. Haylen shifts, accommodatingly, gives up a bit more of the precious little space they have on the steps of the bus. The sitting is awkward, but they’re roughly the same size and so they make do, nudged shoulder to hip to thigh. When Haylen breathes, they share the same mist.

“I just needed some air,” Haylen finally clarifies, voice quiet in the night, eyes moving to the busy marketplace.

“For two hours?” Piper questions, and Haylen just blinks.

 _That long?_  Haylen wonders, before shaking it off. She doesn’t doubt that the party hasn’t actually slowed down any since she’d abruptly left. Even from up here, all the way across the marketplace, Haylen can make out the muffled croon of music coming from the Dugout, Vadim Bobrov’s infectious, booming laughter. Half of Diamond City is in there tonight, sharing in the merriment and warmth and music. Food is on the house tonight as an act of holiday generosity, one night only a year, and the beer is free-flowing. 

If it were any other time, before all this — before  _everything_ , really — Haylen doesn’t have a doubt that she’d have loved the party. Would have indulged in a bottle or five of beer, would have made her stomach warm and good. Might’ve even been enough for her to gather up some bravery, liquid courage, to drag Rhys up for a dance. It would’ve been awkward and she wouldn’t have cared. And Danse would be at the side, or at the bar, beer in hand and content to smile, to watch over his friends — ( _family_ , Haylen’s mind betrays, makes her heart ache something fierce) — and keep them safe.

As it is, it’s just. Hard. To let go and enjoy the festivities in there, not when she’s been staying in the dugout for the past three weeks since everything went up in flames, not when the smell of smoking patrons and cheap alcohol only reminds her of nights in the Brotherhood, not when she’s spent so much time grieving on the stained mattresses that the concrete walls of it make her feel claustrophobic.

And Danse, Rhys, they aren’t around anymore. So.

She feels something else warm drape around her shoulders, suddenly, makes her eyes widen and her muscles jolt, until she recognizes the familiar red leather. Hadn’t even noticed Piper standing to remove the thing, and now Piper sits back down next to her, sans scarf and now coat and just in the dark green sweater she wears underneath. Haylen’s throat suddenly feels tighter, with her kindness. Mouth, abruptly, sticky as her eyes burn a little. She wants to give the coat back, knows that Piper’s sweater is less warm than the red turtleneck Haylen’d taken with her from the Brotherhood, but if she tries she knows she’ll start crying. So she just tugs it on tighter.

Piper digs out a packet out of her pockets. Turns to Haylen with soft eyes, a little concerned. “Do you mind if I... ?”

She sees the cigarette packet, and it clicks, but she doesn’t trust herself not to burst into tears if she opens her mouth, and so just nods. Piper half-smiles back, gnaws on her lower lip for a second like she wants to ask something, before holding back and putting a cigarette to her mouth. In the warm flicker of the lighter’s flame, Haylen makes out chapped, bitten lips, yellowed teeth from years of smoking. And then the flame flickers back out, Piper breathes in, and then out. Cherry, bright. The coat around Haylen smells the same way.

Piper fidgets, while Haylen steadies herself all over again. A knee bounces beside hers. Piper looks like she’s trying very hard to not push for questions, to not pry.

It’s sweet, and it lasts for all of five minutes.

“So,” Piper shifts again. Making a clear attempt to sound like she’s more nonchalant than she actually is, ashes her cigarette. “Uh. How — how’re you holding up?”

That — Haylen manages a laugh. It’s not a happy one, by any measure. “I don’t — what am I supposed to answer?” Gnaws on her lip for a second, and then, “I don’t know.”

Piper gives her a look, from the corner of her eyes, snowflakes on her cheeks — it’s sympathetic, and sorry, and Haylen wants to shut her eyes and the world out before she  _really_  breaks down. She has an ugly crying face. Rhys had told her that, once, the first time she’d lost a member of her squad in her early initiate days; he didn’t mean it maliciously, but he was never altogether great at phrasing things kindly, and.

Haylen giggles, wetly, bitter and miserable, because it’s just like before — his words making her cry harder. Though this time, it’s because he isn’t here to say them.

Her eyes burn traitorously, and she shuts them, hard. She hears the  _hiss_  of a cigarette, embers gasping out their last sparks on cold snow, and a very quiet  _aw, geez, I’m so bad at this_ , before she feels Piper’s shoulder nudge her again.

“Hey,” Piper says, voice crackling and low, “You should — I mean — I’m sorry, for. All of that. You know? But, if anything, I — you  _saved so many lives_. Haylen? You’re — listen to me, you’re a hero, okay? You got that?”

 _I sure don’t feel like a hero_ , the voice in her mind says, hurt and broken.  _Danse was a hero. Rhys was a hero. I’m —_

“Feels more like failure to me.” Haylen says, and in her head she wants to joke, pass it off as something funny so Piper can stop worrying about her and go back to the party, but it comes off smaller than she ever knew she could sound like.

Piper makes an unhappy noise right back, right there, in the back of her throat. “Haylen, you  _are_. I’m serious.” She has her stubborn reporter voice on. It makes Haylen’s mouth twitch into a tiny smile, despite everything. “Without you there, without your command and your, your  _crazy good_  schematics — a lot more people would’ve died. Innocent  _kids._ ”

Piper means well. Haylen knows that. Piper is painfully, wonderfully kind, had been the first person to welcome her into Diamond City with open arms when she’d stumbled in a few weeks ago, bloodied and broken. Piper had been one of the first to show her around, to fend off any nosey wanderers, to  _talk_  to her as if she was more than just some Brotherhood traitor.

And Haylen knows, now too, that Piper means well by the praise — but god, if it doesn’t work.

There’s no joy, no pride in bringing down the people she’d once called her family. There’s no heroism in destroying the very thing she’d built her life around. Only cowardice, where she’d sketched up the Prydwen floor plans for the Minutemen and purposely ignored the fact that she  _knew_ they were working with the Railroad, because she was the only one who knew where everything was, and would rather have it all over quick than slowly burning. Only selfishness, stealing Rhys away from a mission she knew he’d be on, so she could talk him into evacuating the squires before everything went down. To trust  _her_ , a Brotherhood traitor, with his life. (The worst part, what  _really_  hurts, burns low in her heart — is how quickly, grimly, that he did.)

And all because of Danse. All because she owed him her life, all because he and Rhys were the closest people she’s ever had in her life beyond her own mothers, all because it turned out that he was a  _synth_  and she’d found, painfully, how much of her beliefs were built around him. How she had to learn that her loyalty was never to the Brotherhood, but to Danse.

She’d learnt everything on her own, but she wouldn’t have even started if Danse hadn’t shown her. She’d still be a street rat, a scrawny wasteland scavver with an empty stomach and bleeding nails, if he hadn’t found her. Hadn’t brought her with him, hadn’t shown her what real camaraderie was like. Truth, honesty, righteousness. How to be kind to her fellow men. How to fight for herself.  _Patience_ , where none could be found. 

She’d had to learn to walk on her own, but Danse had shown her how to stand.

But then he had to go and disappear. Had to shake the foundations of her beliefs, her core. She’d left her whole life behind to find him, because she  _had_  to, because no one else would, because he’d been in her corner and guarding her back her entire life in the Brotherhood, because he’d given her more than she could ever repay —

And for what?

Danse is still gone, even after everything. The listening post was empty, when she’d gone there herself.

The squires she extracted from the crash site (all of them, each and every head, all safe, thank  _god_ ) had no clue where Rhys went. She couldn’t even find his body, even after she’d burnt and sliced her palms sifting through the wreckage.

There’s more blood on her hands than she knows what to do with. More lives on her heart than her soul can bear. Three weeks to destroy the world as she knew it, and now she doesn’t even know if it’s worth it. Doesn’t even matter that she didn’t have much of a choice — leave the downfall of the Brotherhood to the cruelty of a synth-loving organization she knew nothing about, or let it be quick and merciful under her hand, and she will  _never_  forgive the Minutemen and the Railroad for the corner they shoved her in — because in the end, they’re still gone.

She’d do it all over again, if it’d only meant that Danse and Rhys would live. But she couldn’t even get that much. Maybe it’s the world’s way of punishing her for being a traitor. Maybe she’d made a mistake after all, leaving.

It’s the loneliest Haylen’s ever felt, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

She almost startles when she feels an arm around her shoulder, hesitant, tentative. Gets actually  _surprised_  though, by the feeling of unexpected tears down her cheeks. How long has she been crying?

“God, I’m sorry,” Haylen tries, voice cracking on the last syllable, swallowed down in bitter laughter, “I just —  I — “ and then that, too, is overtaken by a wave of grief, and she can’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t try to. Presses the heel of her palms harsh against her eyes to stem the crying, until there are fireworks behind her eyelids. Starbursts. The flicker of a flame, the blastwave of a mushroom cloud — 

“No, no! You’re allowed to cry, it’s good — I mean, it sucks, but it’s — aw, you know what I mean.” Piper stutters, before giving up. She places her hand down, finally, but with enough space between them that Haylen knows she can shrug it off if it feels like too much. As it is, it’s... not enough. “I... Probably didn’t say the right thing, there, did I?”

Haylen laughs a little, wetly. The tears won’t stop coming, and they’re freezing a little to her cheeks. “Not really,” she mumbles honestly.

“Figures. Way to go, Piper, right? Can you believe I do words for a living?” Piper tries to joke. 

It works, to Haylen’s own surprise — a damp giggle bubbles in her throat, and when she roughly drags her sleeve across her face, she looks up to see Piper looking at her with a mixture of awkward smiling and well-meant concern. There are flecks of snow, precariously perched on fragile lashes, on dark hair. The back light of Diamond City’s spotlights drawing deep shadows, on her cheekbones, her pretty throat, her dimples when she smiles. Fringed around her, the warmth of the fairy lights, worn like a well-loved sweater.

“Hey,” Piper says, gentle, unsure but  _trying_ , “If you ever need anything, you know I’m around, right? Honest. Even  _if_  I’m not so great at — well, you know. This kind of thing. But my door, it’s always open to you, okay? You know that?”

Something warm trickles gently into Haylen’s chest, and she feels it settle into her lungs when she breathes in, a feeling she’s  _missed_  since everything’s happened —

She doesn’t think. Only  _acts_ , moves, buries her face into the crook of Piper’s neck right as the tears start to flow, and it’s either the general action of things (or her very, very frozen nose) that Piper jolts at. For a moment, Haylen wonders if she’s gone too far. Too fast. They’re barely friends — or at least, they can’t be, not with Haylen being only half-present the past few weeks, too lost in grief to ever truly feel anchored to the present even though Piper’s been one of the first people to help her in, to usher her to the surly-faced doctor to treat her wounds, to offer her shelter and food and clothing —

 — But, damn it. She’s already been selfish all this time. What’s one more little thing, one last piece of goodness she can snatch for herself?

And then. Then, there is a hand. And it tightens around Haylen’s shoulders, pulls her in a little bit closer. And suddenly all Haylen can smell is this; the smell of Piper’s cigarettes, sweeter than any Haylen has ever smelled before. It’s subtle, dancing in the shadows of Piper’s fawn skin, in the softness of her hair, the slant of her jawline, unfurling in Haylen’s lungs. Haylen lets the collar of Piper’s sweater absorb her tears as she shuts her eyes, breathes in, and tries to put herself back together. Times her inhales and exhales to Piper’s, and wait for the crying to subside.

They’re quiet for awhile. The world around them still moves, and for the moment, Diamond City is pleasantly subdued in it’s holiday festivities, basking in its privilege to enjoy a pre-war luxury instead of worrying about whether they’ll survive the winter. Snow covers the rooftops like powdered sugar off of stale snack cakes, and the marketplace still has a steady stream of people, gathered together to eat and talk. There’s still plenty of sound coming from the dugout with every swing of it’s doors, of people coming in or out.

It’s still the quietest Haylen’s ever seen Piper. Piper, who’s always loud, who’s always out there, in your face but always  _ready_ , fighting with her own brand of righteousness. There’s something beautiful, the war Piper is battling — she doesn’t blow brains out but she changes minds, with her words alone and sheer dedication. To have Piper here, with her, sharing their warmth and just being quiet together — it feels like a new kind of privilege, an insight to something Piper rarely shows anyone else. It feels  _right_ , because Haylen is too.

Piper is a different kind of good than Danse was, than Rhys was, than Haylen is. Piper fights different battles than the Brotherhood does, and her loyalties aren’t quite so officialized, none of it written down in a rulebook or some kind of wasteland Codex. But for all of Haylen knows about her — and she knows a lot, she does, she’s not a scribe and not part of  _recon_  squad gladius for nothing — she knows that Piper is good. Righteous. Brutally honest, bullheaded and loud, the voice of everyone who’s too afraid to speak up. A hero in her own right.

So when Haylen finally gathers herself back up, the tears slowing down to nothing, the question comes out more reedy and tired than unsure; “Are you glad that the Brotherhood’s out of the CommonWealth?”

She feels Piper still, against her. It’s expected. This is where Haylen usually expects the lies, the bitterness of it already gathering at the back of her throat. Ever since she’s finally come here to Diamond City, for refuge and care while she figures things out, it’s something of a taboo topic it seems. Everyone she’s met tiptoeing around the topic, but painfully curious. All cried out, now, she wonders whether Piper’s just like the rest of them.

Haylen still has her face in the crook of Piper’s neck, cold nose pressed against her throat, so she only feels Piper swallowing before she speaks up again.

“I... Yeah. I am.” Piper says. Shrugs, one-sided, but there’s nothing apologetic in her voice. “I mean, I wish we didn’t have to lose  _lives_  for it, but. I’m glad they’re gone. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.” Haylen murmurs, though not unkindly, as she shifts to rest her head on Piper’s shoulder instead. After everything, she just... there’s nothing but fatigue in her lungs, a bone-deep tiredness whenever she thinks about it. After spending so many months losing sleep over the issue, for now, she just wants to... not think too hard about it. She can’t be angry at Piper over her honesty. “Don’t worry about it, I just — I wanted to know.”

Peering up, Haylen only sees dark, dark eyes looking at her. A mixture of concern, and sympathy, but no apology, before Piper finally nods and looks forward. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not sorry, no. ... What about you?”

“Me?”

“Leaving the Brotherhood. Doing,” Piper handwaves a little, “… all of this. But are you still going back to the Capital Wasteland to rejoin ‘em?”

Haylen sucks in a quick, harsh breath, even though she already knows her answer. “I... No. I’m not. I’m a Brotherhood traitor, and I wouldn’t — even if no one there  _knows_  that, I just wouldn’t be able to live in lies like that. I can’t.”

Piper nods, in what Haylen thinks is approval. Piper’s thumb rubs slow circles into Haylen’s shoulder, and Haylen feels her body relaxing more against Piper, despite the topic at hand. There’s a gentle coat of snow dusting both their boots.

“I don’t even know if I’m Brotherhood material.” Haylen finally continues, closing her eyes right as she feels Piper’s gaze flicker to her. “I don’t know if I ever was. Working together, loyalty and camaraderie, studying technology... That, I was. That, I loved. But everything else? Elder Maxson’s doctrine, our... zero tolerance policy on everything that wasn’t us, shooting first and asking later, I — it’s really sad, isn’t it, that it took for Danse to be cast away for me to question it all? Makes me a real idiot.”

“Elder Maxson was a blowhard and a bigot. He deserved to crash and burn.” Haylen hears Piper murmur darkly, before she seems to snap out of it. “Shoot — sorry. I didn’t — And you’re not an idiot — ”

“It’s fine. I mean — I don’t know if I’ll can call anyone anything anytime soon, but. You know. It’s so easy to believe in him. He is —  _was_ , a great speaker. Natural talker. And when he lead us, it was so... Easy, to just believe everything he said, no questions asked.” Haylen says, unhurried. “That we were above everyone else. That demanding caps and supplies from civilians were fine, because we were ‘protecting’ them. That all ghouls are just waiting to turn feral if they haven’t already, that all synths should be melted down in nuclear fire.”

A hand moves to stroke her hair, a little. Tucks an auburn strand behind her ear, and she looks up to see Piper frowning. “And... now? Do you... still feel that way?”

 _I don’t know,_  Haylen wants to say.  _Because I’m finally down here, and suddenly I see what we were doing, to all those farmers and settlers. I met Daisy in Goodneighbour, and I don’t hate her. I met Nick Valentine, and I don’t think he should die. Maybe that’s the thing. It’s easier, to hate and to rule over people without second thought, when you’re not there to see the effects yourself. Or to acknowledge them beyond your own one dimensional profiling. I’m not on the Prydwen, anymore — I can’t ignore what we did here._

“…I still think the Brotherhood is the best equipped to deal with old technology. I still think the Brotherhood has some of the smartest minds and the most valiant of hearts. But maybe... New leadership is necessary.” Haylen murmurs, in conclusion, before shrugging, sighing. “It’s still hard to change the way you think, though, after spending your  _whole life_  being told otherwise. I still get freaked out if a ghoul surprises me and, I don’t — I don’t hate synths, I don’t think. Not anymore, not like I used to, not like I thought I used to. But playing God like that, making them in the first place... It’s not right.”

“Maybe,” Piper finally responds. Shrugs herself, hand still on Haylen’s shoulder, “But none of us ever ask to be made.”

Haylen blinks a little, in surprise, before pulling away to look at Piper properly. Finds herself smiling when Piper looks at her too, and even in the dim streetlight Haylen can make out the pink on her cheeks. Piper is... smarter than she lets on. More than just her witticisms and her paper.  _She has a really good head on her shoulders_ , Haylen thinks, a different kind of intelligence than just the booksmarts Haylen has, reading thoughts and people the same way Haylen does figures and components.

Also, she’s just... also surprised, at how much better she feels after that talk. A little bit of weight off of her heart, to say it aloud, spoken and fading into open air like the mist from her mouth in the winter air.

“Wise words, Piper.” Haylen manages, finally, smiling gentle. Piper blinks at her, snowflakes on her lashes and the front brim of her cap, and then — she smiles back, almost shy, the warm holiday lights framing her cozy and gold. Her eyes are so dark, but they reflect nothing but fondness, shadows melting in the dips of her throat, her jawline, her cheekbones, the pillow of her lips. Such  _kindness_ , and Haylen’s heart suddenly decides to make it’s presence known, thudding in abrupt warmth.

 _Oh_.

“Glad to see you can still smile, Red.” Piper smiles, lips cracked and red in the cold. “Sure would be nice to see more of that.”

“Red?” Haylen echoes, before it clicks and she grins, “Oh, pfft. My hair. You call everyone by colour?”

“Only the ones I find interesting.” Piper says, or slips, because in the next second her cheeks are suddenly  _splotchy_  with redness and she’s shot back a bit, flailing, “I mean, uh — well, you know, it’s just — “

Haylen laughs right back, maybe a little embarrassed herself, but she waves it off. Shakes her head. “I was just teasing. I — it’s a nice nickname. I like it.”

"Oh. I, uh —I mean. Yeah?” Piper flusters, the pretty blush spreading, and Haylen finds herself liking it more and more. “Do you — are you feeling better?”

“I... do, actually. Talking. It helped.” Haylen is pleased, herself, to say it. She doesn’t know when she’ll be okay again, or when the yawning, gaping emptiness in her heart where Danse and Rhys used to be will heal. But it’s... a good step forward. Better than she’s felt in a long, long while now. “Thank you, Piper, for coming to check on me.”

“Getting way up in people’s business is  _kinda_  my thing, Red. Good to see it’s working out for once.” Piper jokes, a hint of self-depreciation in her tone before she rises. Dusts the snow off her lap, off her cap, and then turns back to Haylen. The sweater she’s wearing cuts a very, very nice figure. “Listen, I’m gonna head back in. Nat’s probably wondering and I’ll have to bring her home before it gets too late. Do you want to... ?”

The question trails off, but Haylen knows what she’s asking. And, surprisingly, she feels... Okay about it.

“Yeah. Sure. My fingers’ll turn blue if i wait out here anymore anyway.” Haylen smiles, lopsided. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t _dislike_ the Dugout, just... sleeping there hasn’t been digging up any rest for me. That’s all.” _Hard to party when the place makes me feel claustrophobic._

Piper seems to fidget, a little, gnawing her lower lip plump and red before shrugging. “You can always stay with me. We have a couch and extra bedrolls.”

Haylen’s eyes widen. “What? No! I, no, I couldn’t, I don’t want to impose — “

“No, no! It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.” Piper waves off a little frantically. “Seriously. I’m not like, y’know,  _forcing_  you to stay with us or anything, but like. It’s seriously no big deal. You can stay as long as you like, until you find somewhere else you want to go to, until you get back on your feet again. Nat won’t mind, and I certainly don’t. Choice is yours, red.”

There are times where Haylen faces uncertainty. It happens more than she likes to admit, where she’d rather leave the decision making to everyone besides herself. This is one of those times, because she thinks of Piper’s home, warm and cozy and well-lived, well-loved. Thinks of little Nat running around to help with the paper, getting ready for school. Thinks of Piper, tap-tap-tapping away at her terminal, writing in her notebook, coming down the steps in the morning with tousled hair and worn pajamas, and Haylen thinks it’s a kind of intimacy, a kind of friendship, she doesn’t deserve to see just yet.

But then she looks up at Piper. Sees the lights around her, the softness of her eyes like melted honey, and Haylen finally accepts her own tiredness and nods. She could use some rest.

“I’d love that. Thank you.” She finally answers, and feels pinpricks of warmth in her heart when Piper looks  _relieved_  at that.

“Eh, it’s no big deal. What’s a sleepover or few, right?” Piper grins, and extends her hand. Haylen takes it, and then they both sort of — forget to let go, until they reach the Dugout.

The rest of the night passes, in a way that Haylen can say is: good. She lets herself relax, easier now with her heart feeling a little lighter, and Piper by her side for almost the entire night. The jukebox is loud and merry, everyone partaking in the festivities, and the alcohol rolls on constant and warming. By the end of the night, Haylen finds herself singing and dancing with even Nick Valentine, who treats her like a perfect gentleman even though just months ago she’d have shot him on sight. She feels guilty enough about it to slur her apologies into his coat after her fifth beer, and he only smiles and pats her back.

It’s a good night. Her head is a comfortable buzz by the end of it, and it’s no Brotherhood party, but they treat her kindly regardless. Rhys and Danse aren’t with her, but the rest of Diamond City dance with her anyway, despite her history. And she doesn’t even remember how she got home by the end of the night, but she does remember collapsing on a bed, comfortable and warm, on top of a familiar body, Haylen’s nose pressed against Piper’s throat, honey-sweet cigarette smoke unfurling in her lungs, before falling into the best sleep she’s had in months.

She doesn’t know when she’ll be okay again. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be the same. But for the first time in months, she’s not quite so lonely. And that, for now, is enough.

( And two months later, Piper is still there for her, when the Haylen opens her front door to see two familiar faces, bruised and battered but alive. It’s Piper who holds her when Haylen falls to her knees, eyes wide and in tears, choking on her own gratitude — it’s Piper who gives them both shelter for the day while they’re figuring themselves out.

It’s Piper who glares up at Danse, while Haylen sobs into his chest, says; “She would’ve died for you. She would’ve  _died_  for you.”

And Danse only bows his head; “I know. I know. I know.” )

One day, she’ll be home again.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been rotting in my drafts since last december. not the best thing i've ever written, not even particularly good, but would be a bigger shame to leave it there in my drafts forever. enjoy, ahah.
> 
> (i'm keycchan on tumblr, come say hi!)


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